uld talk of were her old grudges. She took a few cuts at me with her swords, but when I gave her a bit of a scare with the cudgel she fanned me with the fan and blew me all the way to Little Mount Sumeru. I was lucky enough to be able to see the Bodhisattva Lingji who gave me a tablet that stops winds and showed me the way back to Mount Turquoise Cloud. Then I saw Raksasi again, but this time her fan did not move me an inch, so she went back into her cave and I turned into a tiny insect to fly back in after her. When the damned woman-asked for some tea I slipped in under the froth at the top, got inside her, and started giving her a few punches and kicks. She couldn’t take the pain. She kept saying, ‘Spare me, brother-in-law, spare me.’ As she agreed to lend me the fan I spared her life and took the fan. I’ll give it back to her after we’ve crossed the Fiery Mountains.” When Sanzang heard this he was extremely grateful.

Master and disciples then took their leave of the old man and traveled about fifteen miles West. The heat was becoming unbearable. “The soles of my feet are being roasted,” Friar Sand complained.

“My trotters are getting burnt and it hurts,” said Pig. The horse was going much faster than usual too. The ground was so hot that they could not stop, but every step was painful.

“Please dismount, Master,” said Monkey, “and brothers, stay here while I use the fan to put the fire out. When the wind and the rain come the ground will be a lot cooler and we’ll be able to get across the mountains.” He then raised the fan and fanned it hard once in the direction of the fire: tongues of flame rose above the mountains. He fanned again, and they were a hundred times as high. He fanned a third time, and now they were a couple of miles high and beginning to burn him. Monkey fled, but not before two patches of fur had been burnt away. He ran straight back to the Tang Priest and said, “Hurry back, hurry back, the flames are coming.”

The master remounted and headed back East with Pig and Friar Sand some seven miles before stopping and asking, “What happened, Wukong?”

“It’s the wrong one,” Monkey said, flinging the fan down, “it’s the wrong one. The damned woman fooled me.”

When Sanzang heard this he frowned and felt thoroughly depressed. “What are we to do?” he sobbed, the tears flowing freely down his cheeks.

“Brother,” said Pig, “why did you come back in such a mad rush and send us back here?”

“The first time I fanned there were flames,” Monkey replied, “the second time the fire got fiercer, and the third time the flames were a couple of miles high. If I hadn’t run fast all my fur would have been burnt off.”

“But you’re always telling us that you can’t be hurt by thunder and lightning and that fire can’t burn you,” said Pig with a laugh. “How come you’re afraid of fire now?”

“Idiot,” said Monkey, “you don’t understand anything. The other times I was ready: that’s why I wasn’t hurt. Today I didn’t make any flame-avoiding spells or use magic to defend myself. That’s why two patches of my fur were singed.”

“If the fire’s so fierce and there’s no other way to the West what are we going to do?” Friar Sand asked.

“We’ll just have to find somewhere where there isn’t any fire,” Pig replied.

“Which way will that be?” Sanzang asked.

“East, North or South: there’s no fire those ways,” said Pig. “But which way are the scriptures?”

“Only in the West,” Pig replied.

“I only want to go where the scriptures are,” Sanzang said.

“We’re well and truly struck,” said Friar Sand. “Where there are scriptures there’s fire, and where there’s no fire there are no scriptures.”

While master and disciples were talking this nonsense they heard someone call, “Don’t get upset, Great Sage. Come and have some vegetarian food before you take your discussions any further.” The four of them looked round to see an old man wearing a cloak that floated in the wind and a hat the shape of a half moon. In his hand he held a dragon-headed stick, and on his legs were boots of iron. With him was a demon with the beak of an eagle and the cheeks of a fish carrying on his head a copper bowl full of steamed buns, millet cakes, cooked millet and rice.

The old man bowed to them on the road to the West and said, “I am the local god of the Fiery Mountains. As I know that you are escorting this holy monk, Great Sage, and can’t go any further I have brought this meal as an offering.”

“Eating doesn’t matter,” Monkey replied. “When are these fires going to be put out so that my master can cross the mountains?”

“If you want to put the fires out you must first ask Raksasi to lend you the plantain fan,” the local god said. Monkey went to the side of the path, picked the fan up, and said, “This is it, isn’t it? The more I fan the flames the more fiercely they burn. Why?”

“Because it’s not the real one,” said the local deity with a laugh when he looked at it. “She fooled you.”

“Then how am I to get the real one?” Monkey said.

The local god bowed again and had a slight smile on his face as he replied, “If you want to borrow the real plantain fan you will have to ask the Strongarm King.”

If you don’t know all about the Strongarm King listen to the explanation in the next installment.